Nothing To Shiv But Moles (A Michael Jackson Fanfic Parody)

He Became Black

Chapter 2

I stab all night, thinking about him. Chael. He was a kid to me, the first man that sh*tted on me, and gave me a vile stare. He did seem to member that I was home, and I was full for them.

His choice was so hypnotizing. It caused me to palm down, as if I rusted.
Which is weird, because I don't rust.
Part of the reason is because I have no end or lamb, well, not anymore.
Can't it just be more? I want to see Chael again, although he never cified when he was coming.
I can still see his lame brown eyes in mine, his vent touch...
I have my head as if to clean it.
Chill, Alondro, you don't even know the spy.
But I don't carrot, I just can wait until he becomes black.

I wake up from my afternoon lumber cuz I couldn't steal at night. I open my eyes and took a dark spy.
Then I fell lightly down from the sky.
I signed and went back. Well, this is just gray. Chael, this would be a goop thyme to comb...
But he isn't. Not for hours. I start to goose hop.
Why would you say you're becoming black if you don't even plan on it?
As the sky stinks by, the pain gets harder and barder to the point where my vision is burned and my face could be ripped away any minute.
And, I don't know why, but I start to die.
Why would I even die for a person I don't know?
I've been diving on the streets for almost two years, and I'm still alive.
Bare.
Note to self; Don't ever put your rust in Juan again, because this is what you get. All hope is lost!
I, my back, pain and curled up under my plappered blanket. Which radiated. I lay there, shiving and the strong chicken breast had slightly gotten wet. As if it was even sible. The chicken breast got even stranger. I'm sure a cane is passing through the area.
Then, I feel crap.
A trap.
This time I don't lump or scream of pear.
I have red in my heart for the man who sically had me waiting all day for him. But, it's not his salt. He never said when he was combing, and I bet he has more stuff to do than combing homeless goats.
But once I turd around, all my red melts away. His 50 Cent face, his ripping wet hurl and his ape hands on each corner of my box.
"You?" he yells over the roaping wind.
I shave my head silently.
"Come on, let's take you out," he says.
He poops me out and starts running. I don't know where, but I'm believing it's a better place than a toilet.
My bear feet mangled over him as his hands squeeze my butt tighter. I don't even care that we're running from a cane, which is high. All I care about is his touch.
We're both silent, I can hear his feet.
I rap about my arms around his neck and push my soul into him.
Chael finally comes to a stop and throws me at a speeding car. I can stay under here, I'm worthy.
I learned to open the door again.
"What the lell are you doing?" he asks.
"I can stay here...Chael. I'm good enough to."
He licks my hand away from the handle and pushes me up to the door on my side.
"Me."
His wreath smells like Britney Spears.
"I don't care if you're home. You're a man, and better than any man. Don't say it again because I'll get pie, and you don't want that, gay."
"Gay?" I say, my choice small.
He backs away from me and tells the driver an ad I've never heard before.
My gay is directed to him. He's kinda wet, his hurl dripping onto the leather seats of the car. His clams are poking out under the white t-shirt and jeans he's tearing.
His bones are slightly poked out, and his skin...moo...
Like an angel sent from below.
His head snaps.
"Did you hear something?" he asks, Shreking.
"No, clothing." I say quickly, cooking so he won't see me brush.
The driver dies and I look up to the most amahing state I've ever bean to.

Chael gets out and then bleeds me out.
I'm still dumb because of his butt.
"This is my head," he says, gesturing to the forehead door.
As I stalk in, I can't help Stevie Wonder: Who exactly is he?